Glitter Girl
25.03.2014
Inside were shadows and
darkness; the wait . . . as maddening as the whispers in the wind. To pass time
he examined the hands responsible for altering their game. They were large with
long fingers, scarred, nails torn and dirty, smeared with blood and filth.
Your father’s hands.
He clenched them, as if the truth could
be denied. He was different, he had to be.
The front door yawned open,
spilling light towards Daniel that felt like creeping darkness. Fear
paralysed him as his father
stumbled in. He had no way of knowing how much he’d drunk already, but it
became obvious. 'Where’s your mother?' he barked.
A malevolent voice spoke
through his. 'Out whoring, like you told
her,' it said.
His father grumbled, but not
angrily because he had, on numerous occasions, told her to do exactly that.
'And you, what the fuck . . . What’s that fuckin’ stink?' His father stumbled
forward, intent on investigating the source, but he hovered, hand clutching the
edge of the table next to where his son sat.
'I . . . think a rat died in
the bathroom,' Daniel stammered, standing to intercept him. 'It’s
all right, I got rid of it.'
His father looked him up and down before he sneered and stumbled into the lounge room. He collapsed in front
of the TV to catch up on the local news.
And that
left Daniel to prepare for the remainder of their game.
He retreated to his
mother’s room. She was staring up at him as he passed. 'It is true mother,' he
said, ‘We should do something about that smell. It’s not healthy.' He turned to
the dresser, rifling through the assortment of treasures before him. He found
her perfume, Obsession, and sprayed
himself, feeling the trigger of lust stir his groin. He closed his eyes for a
moment, forcing away the other.
NO!!!
The eyes that glared at him from the mirror were dark; long black eyelashes painted thick with mascara and smeared in kohl,
as if the all light in the room had been absorbed into their depths. Hollow
insides all prettied up. Utterly insane. Daniel scowled at the pallid creature reflected
before him. Behind him, strewn over the bed and littering the floor, were
the remnants of his mother’s closet. They had been in here all morning
searching the vast array of clothing for something special. The clothes he wore
fell lifelessly around his chest and hips making him appear waifish and
childlike, flat chested and not the slightest bit appealing.
Revolting! It glowered. It wanted the
flowing cornflower blue dress with the cute spaghetti straps, but he couldn’t
find it.
Daniel turned away from the
petite girly boy in the mirror and stared at the clothes in sheer bewilderment.
He seized an armful of the pastel flowery pile and pushed them to the floor
until the bed was entirely cleared of mess.
She watched silently as he
pulled back the comforter, uncovering the rest of her swelling, mottled body. 'Of course.' Daniel smiled, relieved, and it smiled with him. He proceeded to
manoeuvre one stiff arm through the strap of the dress. It wouldn’t help him.
Once she’d been undressed he
pulled free of his own clothes, once again becoming transfixed by the naked reflection
before him. He didn’t recognize the pale, ragged body, or the flaccid appendage
between his legs, they didn’t belong to him. But the hate was all his; every
angry mark, every scar, and every wound he’d carved into it.
Pulling the dress over his
head, he slid his hands over the blue silk fabric. A wave of warmth, like when
his mother’s blood had spilled out of her body and over his, like an orgasm,
rose up from the pit of his stomach. The thing in him rejoiced. The dress was
perfect, even with the dark staining and jagged holes through the chest, a
reminder that beauty was never flawless. He unbound his dark hair and it cascaded
around his shoulders, the hard-on marring an otherwise perfect silhouette.
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